


Worse Than Nicotine

by AgentOklahoma



Series: Nicotine [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, M/M, Mechanic!Percy, Modern AU, Motorcyclist!Vax
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:50:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentOklahoma/pseuds/AgentOklahoma
Summary: It took all of a second for Percival’s cheeks to heat up and his hands to tense further in anxiety when he realised that ‘Oh no, he’s bloody gorgeous and he’s looking directly at me’. “Hi. Um, do you work on motorcycles?” the man asked, motioned with his thumb back towards the cruiser with a look that spoke of cautious optimism, as if he expected them to say no, but hoped they’d say yes.‘Give him whatever he wants’ Percy’s brain rebelled.-Percival is the best mechanic in the city of Emon and a new client walks into his shop.





	

_Worse Than Nicotine_

“Um, Percy, I think-“

“It’s backwards, Grog. I taught you how to read, use those skills to read the instructions,” Percy called, words slightly muffled by the nearly dead cigarette teetering on the edge of his lips as he worked, a furrow to his brow and a tension to his wrist as he carefully screwed in the final panel to this machine he’d been working on for the better part of a month. Meant to…he wasn’t actually even entirely sure anymore. It had been a few days since they gotten a car in the shop and he was really just putting together whatever random parts were in reach until something more interesting caught his eye.

“Hello?”

“Grog, if I see you weren’t reading the manual-“

“That wasn’t me, Percy, it’s a customer,” Grog contested against the reprimand. Percy straightened up, looking around, his eyes fixating on the new body entering the large open door of the garage. It was a young man, slight build, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, slightly mussed from what had to be him pulling his matte black motorcycle helmet off. Percy had been so immersed in the nonsense machine he’d been working on, he hadn’t been able to tell who was talking, let alone the noise of the motorcycle that was parked right outside, kickstand digging into the grass by the shop. It took all of a second for Percival’s cheeks to heat up and his hands to tense further in anxiety when he realised that ‘ _Oh no, he’s bloody gorgeous and he’s looking directly at me_ ’.

“Hi. Um, do you work on motorcycles?” the man asked, motioned with his thumb back towards the cruiser with a look that spoke of cautious optimism, as if he expected them to say no, but hoped they’d say yes.

‘ _Give him whatever he wants’_ Percy’s brain rebelled.

“Y-Yes, we do,” the mechanic lied. The young man glanced around, honey brown eyes returning to Percy’s.

“You don’t have a certification anywhere…” he replied a little uncomfortably as though he didn’t want to bring it up in the first place but Percy knew the type (which was to say most motorcyclists and a large number of car enthusiasts), hesitant to let anyone potentially unqualified touch their machines (which Percy was, unfortunately, the idea of learning how to fix motorcycles never occurring to him which would have him turn away this amazing feat of human evolution).

“We will, I meant to say, sorry. It’s- well it’s in the mail, c-come back in a week and it’ll be sorted,” Percy stammered.

“What are you on about? We don’t work on-“ Grog started, quickly silenced by look from the white-haired mechanic.

“Good. The next mechanic that works on bikes is three hours away so…good. I’ll…see you next week then,” the dark haired man replied with a small smile, fiddling with his helmet absent-mindedly for a moment before realising that was the end of the conversation and leaving, straddling his bike and pulling his helmet on. The motorcycle’s engine gave a satisfying growl as it started up and the man took off, turning a corner further down the street and vanishing from sight.

Percy stood there, his eyes flickering around as he muttered to himself, counting on his fingers and making some unknown calculation before he scrambled towards the pile of tools and parts that was their office desk, rummaging for something before pulling out the shop phone in triumph, dialling a number and holding the phone to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” Grog asked, peering over Percy’s shoulder at the notebook the mechanic was frantically scribbling in as he waited for whoever was on the other end to pick up.

“Gilmore. I need certification for motorcycle repairs in one week. He knows me, he knows I can figure it out on my own,” Percy said, the last part mostly to himself than Grog. The trainee mechanic’s lips curled up into a sly smile before he poked his boss in the shoulder with one finger, but still exerting enough force to nearly knock the smaller man into the desk.

“You wanna have _relations_ with the client,” the behemoth snickered. Percy swatted at his hand, cheeks turning bright red once more just as Gilmore’s smooth voice came out of the receiver.

“ _Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski De Rolo the third, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”_ Shaun Gilmore asked.

“I need certification for motorcycle repairs,” Percy explained grabbing his smokes from the desk and taking one out, holding the phone with his shoulder as he lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag while his foot tapped away nervously on the concrete floor.

“ _I’m sure there are places you could submit forms into-“_

“I need them by next week,” Percy cut off.

“ _Oh? I’m sure there’s some way I could assist. For a price of course. Might I ask why the hurry?”_ Shaun asked, the Cheshire grin nearly tangible from his tone.

“Percy’s got a woody for a client with a bike!” Grog called out to Shaun, not even having the decency to duck when Percy threw a chunk of rubber tubing at him, just grinning when it hit him in the chest while Gilmore laughed uproariously through the phone.

“ _My dear Percy, I didn’t know you had it in you. You know what, a fellow with your upstanding name and constant return business, I’ll give this to you on the house. If nothing else than to see what you look like after a thorough_ service _of your own,”_ Gilmore purred and Percy bit out a terse ‘thank you’ before hanging up. Another deep drag of his cigarette and one of oil and metal tinged air helped calm Percy’s ranging anxiety somewhat.

“I didn’t think you could get so worked up over a pretty face,” Grog mused, returning to the device he was meant to be reassembling.

“It’s-…I’m just trying to show some good customer service,” the mechanic said lamely, ashing his smoke. Grog let out a ‘pfft’ of disbelief.

“I watched you throw a customer on their arse because they said ‘irregardless’. Customer service ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Grog replied, letting out a squeak when he nudged a wire and the device in front of him sparked.

“Pay attention to your work. I’m not taking you to the hospital again,” Percy reprimanded, hearing only a childish muttering in reply before the shop went quiet, save for the small scrapes of Grog’s tools against his project, giving Percy a small moment’s reprieve to look over towards where the rider’s motorcycle was.

“So how you gonna learn how to fix bikes?” Grog asked, bringing Percy out of his thoughts. The mechanic’s face turned nearly as white as his hair. Papers didn’t mean anything if he didn’t know what the hell he was looking at.

“I’m going down the street. Watch the shop. Don’t burn it down again,” Percy yelled as he grabbed his jacket and wallet, sprinting out of the door and down the street towards the junkyard. There, sitting at the desk as always was the crazy-eyed, spindly looking man named Victor that owned the property, tinkering with some caustic looking chemical as Percy ran up.

“Mister De Rolo. What would you like? Speak up,” Victor nearly shrieked from the other side of the window, cupping a hand to his ear.

“I would like to buy some motorcycles, as intact as you can give me,” Percy requested, peering through the wire gates, spotting the tail ends of some sports bikes and a few cruisers.

“I’ve got three that are a little on the rusty side but in halfway decent condition. I’ll give ‘em to ya for-“

“Doesn’t matter, just-“ Percy said, tossing his bank card at Victor, the old man scrambling to catch it while Percy all but hopped the fence and sprinted towards the motorcycles. He grabbed the first one he could see that vaguely matched the make and model of the dark haired man’s bike and started pushing it, only to find it refusing to budge more than a few inches.

“Pull in the clutch,” Victor squawked. After some fiddling, Percy finally found the right lever and pulled, the bike finally giving and rolling forward.

“I’ll be back for the other two. Thank you Victor,” Percy called over his shoulder on the way back to the shop, looking over the bike as he went. He had a week. How hard could it be?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this 4am-induced-train-wreck. If you'd like, you can check out the art that inspired this fic on tumblr artblog (agentoakysart) under the tag 'oaky draws: critical role'. :)


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